


Akin to Chess

by lingering_l0v3z



Series: There's plots on the ceiling [1]
Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Benny's Perspective, Canon Compliant, F/M, Inner Dialogue, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lingering_l0v3z/pseuds/lingering_l0v3z
Summary: Chess was always my life. My passion and obsession. The best and the worst of me.I never thought anyone would understand, but she did. Just like me, she was enamored with the 64 square board.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Series: There's plots on the ceiling [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097519
Kudos: 77





	Akin to Chess

Chess was always my life. My passion and obsession. The best and the worst of me.

I never thought anyone would understand, but she did. Just like me, she was enamored with the 64 square board.

~

She was nothing to me when I first met her.

Her words. They hit my ears with such confidence that my eyes had no choice but to follow them to the owner.

She glanced at me for a moment. Only a moment. Then her eyes were glued to the board from across the slats of the staircase. She didn’t come to fawn over my presence and that both annoyed and intrigued me. It had been a long time since someone didn’t seek out my expertise.

I dismissed her from my memory at that moment. She wasn’t even a blip on my radar, playing at games so below my level. I knew her face, but her name wasn’t worth my uttering.

However, it didn’t take her long to burst into my view. She was a challenge even before I realized it. Her name and her face would never be foolishly forgotten again.

Harmon. Harmon with copper hair, fierce eyes, confidence that rivaled even my own and intelligence that left me wanting.

By our second meeting, she wasn’t someone I would forget anytime soon. Her gameplay was majestic and nearly wiped out my pieces. Outside of the board, it didn’t help that her cropped red hair suddenly flowed in waves around her face and her dresses suddenly complemented her maturing figure.

I’ve never had much interest in women other than for the occasional company. Chess was my only mistress. I had little interest in much else, but it was hard to miss such a beautiful mind clothed in the fashion of a goddess.

I had read her quote once in an article and fully agreed that chess could also be beautiful. After all, there was nothing more inspiring than how her eyes flared to life and her emotions flowed from her freely during matches.

Watching your opponent’s emotions was a part of chess. Separating the opponent from the pieces on the board was impossible. When the player unravelled so did the game and it was no different for her.

It became apparent that I was fascinated with bringing life to her normally aloof persona when I had the chance to verse her in speed chess. She lost a grand sum that night, but I could have cared less about the money.

I continued to push and challenge her because it was the only time she had ever shown such emotion. Her jaw ticked, eyes widened, and lips pursed when she was trapped in a corner. They say never to poke at a wounded animal, but for her, I couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t enough that her expressions drew me closer. With each move that she commanded the members of her sixteen-piece kingdom to make, she beat at my defense. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged me in any way.

I came to these tournaments to defend my title, but I would have been lying if I said it also had nothing to do with her. She was intriguing to play against and each time I beat her, or our games ended in a draw, I would analyze them until I found out how she thought and how she moved. And I knew she was doing the same.

Each time we met, I would secretly wish for her learning and success. I knew that her progress would keep her in the seat across from mine for longer.

I wished this so much that when she officially beat me for the title, I focused on her improvement regardless of how much I was boiling in self-anger. She had passed me in skill, but I wasn’t ready to just let her go.

I had a strange attachment to her. A need to stay close for unbeknownst reasons. Or perhaps, I just never wanted to think much about said reasons. Not yet anyway, so I offered to help her train instead.

Spending time with her taught me a lot. Not only about the game that I had been playing for as long as I could remember but also about who I was. She was a reflection of myself in all its greatness and in all its faults. Same people haunted by different demons.

Gambling. It was my demon and was the only way to silence the whispers at night when chess wasn’t able to. The very whispers that let you know how alone you are in a world that never truly understood you. Yet she always understood and constantly fought against her own vices.

The night she beat me at speed chess, my head was a blur. I told myself it was from the alcohol and adrenaline coursing through my veins. The moment I looked into her eyes and watched as they dipped to my lips, I mumbled my goodnight fully intent on retreating to my room alone.

I took two steps into the barren space and immediately back-peddled when she walked past. Instinctively, my hand shot out. A million thoughts ran through my head at that moment until her voice pulled me out of the void.

I had told her to forget it the last time she had touched my hair. Chess came first and at that point, everything else was just a distraction. Yet, that night I couldn’t ignore the buzz that always surrounded us and so I uttered the question that was no doubt on both our minds.

The silence afterwards was palpable. Before I knew it, we were stumbling to my bed with our lips melded together nearly tripping over each other. We tumbled into the sheets with the passion and desperation we only showed while playing chess.

And just like how she played, she was perfect. This revelation served to put my mind into overload. As she laid in my arms, I did what I always did best, I turned to chess.

She elbowed me off her. A part of me was disappointed at not having her warmth nearby. Yet, another part of me was relieved. I needed to keep people at an arm's length and from what I’ve observed, often she needed to as well.

Regardless of my need for self-preservation, it didn’t stop my thoughts from wandering to how she was doing in Paris. Not only about how her games were going, but about how she was.

Did she miss me like this? The short answer, no. She made it apparent she didn’t.

Never returning to New York. Never responding to the very question when I asked. Turning down the only deal that would ensure we would be able to go to Moscow together.

She beat me in chess, and it turned out she was even better than myself at keeping people away. So, I let her keep me at a distance. My anger made it easy. I knew when to resign.

However, it never stopped me from following her every move from New York as she demolished one player after the other in Moscow. I set up and played each game as soon as it had been reported. There was pride and heartbreak in how well she was doing.

I regretted the actions I took after our devastating phone call, realizing that she made the same mistake as I did our first night together and clung to her solus. Could we have raised the money together? Should I have answered the phone calls she drunkenly made to my apartment? Just like the pieces on the board, I analyzed our moves and reactions.

I’ve always kept everyone away. It was easier to be alone. Leave before they leave you. The latest lesson in this was the woman who took up a lot of my thoughts these days.

Without knowing it, I had let her get close. Yet, it wasn’t my connection with her that I regretted, but the leaving.

During the days she was in Moscow, my denial finally caught up with me leaving me with no other option. I needed to get in contact with her.

I may have survived for this long by not thinking about the emotions or wellbeing of others, but if I was to give up the solitary life, it would be for her. She needed help especially against the Russians and a team to back her up.

To say that any of the men were surprised to hear from me was an understatement. Townes had already been on his way to Moscow for work while the others were easy to convince. It was funny how many were willing to come to her aid regardless of how adamant she was on being alone.

The moment I heard her voice over the phone there was a relief and joy that I only ever felt when I had officially won the US title years ago. I charged into the plan we had been working on for hours before my mind went blank. It didn’t help that she gasped my name with a voice that mirrored my own feelings.

She mentioned the time and I let the silence hang between us for a moment. I wanted to tell her everything I had been keeping close. All the emotions, regrets and hopes.

Instead, I wished her luck.

When we hung up the phone, I knew that it wouldn’t be the last time we spoke. After all, our thoughts were never far from synchronicity.

And what I thought of her was something akin to my thoughts of chess.


End file.
